A NEW era of Trumpism has begun. And rest assured, as the commander-in-chief’s lower digestive system I will be ever vigilant during this second presidency. We need no accidents.
The 47th president has much to do. Speeding up global warming. Deporting non-whites. Trolling. And despite his victory, his position would become untenable if every speech were to feature a miasma of anal gas and squelching farts denoting the release of semi-liquid stools.
The worst case scenario is a full diaper breach. Trump’s credibility would be destroyed by a rapidly expanding, trouser-wide brown patch on live TV. I pray we never hear the Secret Service say ‘American Eagle has sharted, repeat sharted’.
The anti-fouling procedures are well-rehearsed. Situational awareness of nearest restroom – check. Inconspicuous release of farts in outdoor areas to reduce internal bowel pressure – check. Emergency sphincter clenches – check.
I work closely with the diapers, and those guys are tough. They’ve taken everything Trump has thrown at them and more. They’re the Navy SEALs of adult incontinence.
But they cannot be everywhere. Baths are a danger zone, but they pale into insignificance compared with sex. While marital relations do not take place with Melania, other females, however implausible it may seem, are willing.
Unhinged sycophant Laura Loomer, who’s made public displays of physical affection toward Trump, makes me nervous. While I hold no brief for this racist conspiracy harpy, if a spontaneous coital defecation situation occurred on my watch that would be treason.
Four more years of keeping it all in. I must be strong, resolute, and undaunted. But when his ignorant, childlike palate results in greasy cheeseburgers in front of Fox News at 3am, that’s not easy.
Tomorrow is the first full day of a historic presidency that will change America forever, with several state occasions and patchy lavatory access. And it’s all depending on me.
